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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119607">Forcing Prophecy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishmael_Autolycus/pseuds/Ishmael_Autolycus'>Ishmael_Autolycus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:53:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25119607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishmael_Autolycus/pseuds/Ishmael_Autolycus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Three changes to the canon story, and what flows from those changes. Some characters who died will live, some characters who lived will die, and relationships, both personal and political, will be altered, for better or for worse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Rhaegar I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A mixture of show and book canon.</p><p>This first chapter is probably as graphic as I will get in terms of violence; I don't believe it's graphic enough to require an archive warning. If that changes I will add the warning.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rhaegar Targaryen realized the extent of his misjudgment as Robert Baratheon's war hammer swung at full force toward his unguarded chest. Then his courser stumbled, dropped down, and Robert's hammer struck against his shoulder instead.</p>
<p>The blow hurled Rhaegar from his saddle; his mouth opened in an involuntary scream of pain.</p>
<p>The chill waters of the Trident rushed in, flooding his open mouth. His lungs spasmed, more water pouring in as he flailed desperately.</p>
<p>He felt himself being hauled upward; his lungs pulling in a draft of life-giving air. Blessed Moth-</p>
<p>The first blow snapped Rhaegar's head to the side. More followed, accompanied by a roaring bellow, then he was once more plunged beneath the surface of the river, water filling his nose and mouth.</p>
<p>Again he felt himself hauled upward, this time by multiple hands. He screamed again as unbearable agony speared from his shoulder. Blackness flooded his mind, and he knew no more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Rhaegar woke, his eyes blinking open, Instead of the linens and silks of his own pavilion, he saw coarse gray woolen cloth. Hodden cloth. He drew in a sharp breath. Only one kingdom-</p>
<p>"Good morrow, Your Grace."</p>
<p>Rhaegar turned his head. Dark brown hair and stone-gray eyes set in a long face made the snarling direwolf on the younger man's surcoat almost superfluous. "Stark," he rasped.</p>
<p>The Lord of Winterfell dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Now, Your Grace, where is my sister?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Robert I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Start ripping a few of the bastard’s fingernails out, he’ll talk.”</p>
<p>Jon Arryn pinched the bridge of his nose. “We can’t put a Prince of the Realm to the question, Robert.”</p>
<p>“Seven Hells we can’t!” Robert Baratheon roared.</p>
<p>“We've not won yet,” Ned Stark responded sharply. “Aerys still holds King’s Landing, and the Dornishmen at least retreated in good order, even if the rest of the Targaryens broke and ran.”</p>
<p>“And even if the Dornishmen had broken,” Brynden Tully added, “Mace Tyrell could easily send every second and third man in his army marching up the King’s Road, and still have plenty left over to press the siege at Storm’s End.”</p>
<p>“And of course there’s still the question of Tywin Lannister,” Jon finished.</p>
<p>“Fine, you’ve made your point, all of you.” Robert scowled, then lowered himself into a camp chair, laying his crutch on the carpeted ground beside it. “What of Lannister?” He pressed a hand against his bandaged side.</p>
<p>“He’s still not declared himself, for us or Aerys,” Jon answered. “But his forces are without a doubt on the march, and headed for King’s Landing.”</p>
<p>Robert frowned, pulling at his lower lip. “The Rose Lord has little stomach for honest battle, and less talent. Tarly is the one who’s dangerous. Still, I think we can discount the Reach, at least for the moment.”</p>
<p>“And the Westerlands, Your Grace?” Jon asked.</p>
<p>Robert’s frown deepened into a scowl. “If Tywin Lannister does declare for Aerys, we are lost.” He winced, pressing a hand against his bandaged side again. The others exchanged worried looks. “Lord Stark.”</p>
<p>“Your Grace?”</p>
<p>“You and Ser Brynden will take every man who can march a full day, and go to King’s Landing. If Lannister declares for us, all well and good. If not, you’ll need to keep him from reinforcing Aerys’ men.”</p>
<p>Ned and Brynden both nodded. “Yes, Your Grace,” Ned answered. “We’ll leave in the morning.”</p>
<p>“Good. I’ll follow with the remainder of our forces. And Lord Arryn-” Robert’s lips peeled back in a savage grin.</p>
<p>Jon eyed Robert warily. “Your Grace?”</p>
<p>“Take our royal guest back to the Eyrie with you. Perhaps some time in the Sky Cells will loosen his tongue.”</p>
<p>The conference had ended soon after that; Ned lingering as Jon and Ser Brynden took their leave. “Lya’s alive, Rob, that’s what matters,” Ned said, once the other two had departed. “He can’t hurt her anymore.”</p>
<p>“He can’t,” Robert answered darkly.</p>
<p>Ned’s jaw tightened, obviously catching the implication. A king who would slay a Lord Paramount and his heir in such a horrific fashion would have no qualms about killing a mere woman, noble or no. Or worse. Rhaegar had sworn, on his honor as a Targaryen, that she was safe, guarded by the Kingsguard- but both men were well aware that ultimately, the Kingsguard were sworn to obey the King, not the Prince.</p>
<p>“Mother’s teats, Ned, I’m sorry. I don’t-” Robert straightened in his chair. “We’ll get her back,” he stated confidently. “And Brandon and your father’s bones as well.”</p>
<p>Ned smiled wanly, but didn’t disagree.</p>
<p>“Has he said anything else?”</p>
<p>Ned shook his head. “Just some nonsense about how ‘the dragon needs three heads’ and a ‘promised prince’." </p>
<p>Robert snorted. “Little shit’s as mad as his father; the dragons are gone, and good riddance.”</p>
<p>Ned smiled wryly. “We’d all be dead if they weren’t.”</p>
<p>Robert barked out a laugh, then swore and clutched his side. “Gods, Ned, don’t do that.”</p>
<p>“Should I fetch a maester?”</p>
<p>Robert shook his head. “No, no, I’m fine.” He could hear sounds of merriment all around them, the men celebrating their victory, and for a moment he longed to be among them- reveling in wine and song and willing wenches around the fire- but the battle with Rhaegar had been a close-run thing, and he was not so foolish as to completely ignore the maester’s warnings. Tomorrow night, mayhaps. Robert blew out a breath and reached down to pick up his crutch. “Give me a hand, will you?”</p>
<p>Ned helped him to his feet, and into the rear, more private portion where Robert’s cot was. He waved Ned away once the other man had helped him get his shirt off. “Go, go, have a drink or two for me- let them see at least one of their lords celebrating.”</p>
<p>“As Your Grace commands,” Ned responded with a smirk and a bow.</p>
<p>“Bah,” Robert responded, shooing Ned out of his pavilion with a theatrical glower. “Go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em><br/>
“Look, Renly, look,” he says to the toddler in his arms. “There’s Mama and Papa’s ship.”<br/>
</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Sip,” Renly lisps, barely audible over the rising wind.<br/>
</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Ship,” he repeats. “Mama and Papa will be home soon.” They’d spent almost six months in Essos, searching for a bride for the Crown Prince, to no avail.<br/>
</em>
</p>
<p><em>“Master Jaubrey is one of the finest sailing masters in all of Westeros,” Maester Cressen says. Robert turns his head to see Stannis peering worriedly out at the looming storm. “See,</em> Windproud<i>’s almost to the channel now,” Cressen continues confidently. “They’ll be safe in harbor well before-”</i></p>
<p>
  <i></i>
</p>
<p>
  <i></i>
</p>
<p><i>In real life he hadn’t heard the crack as the main yard broke- the ship was too far away, and the wind too loud- but it echoes through his dream. The mainsail collapses, the broken spar crashing to the deck in a tangle of wood and rope and canvas that brings the mizzen yard down as well.</i> Windproud <i>slews about, nearly broaching, and he can see frantic movement on her deck even as the wind and the waves carry the wallowing hulk past the entrance to the channel.</i></p>
<p>
  <i></i>
</p>
<p>
  <i></i>
</p>
<p><i>A second, even louder crack echoes through his dream as</i> Windproud <i>strikes the rocks, and then a third, a fourth, a fifth, each wave momentarily lifting the ship before slamming it back down. Then the storm is upon them, rain and darkness drawing a curtain over his parents’ final moments.</i></p>
<p>Robert lurched awake, gasping. He tried to sit up, then swore as pain lanced through his wounded side. He breathed out, then in, then out again, before rolling onto his unwounded side and levering himself upright. He bent forward, fingers searching until he felt the leather of a wineskin. An empty wineskin he realized as he lifted it. He threw it back down to the ground with a muttered curse. “Boy!” he bellowed. “Tully!”</p>
<p>Edmure Tully stumbled through the curtain, fist rubbing at sleepy eyes. “My Lord?”</p>
<p>“Fetch me wine, boy,” Robert growled. “Now. And none of that Dornish swill,” he yelled after the retreating page. “Some good Arbor Gold, damn you.”</p>
<p>His father. His mother. Ned’s father. Ned’s brother. All dead. All dead because of that madman on the Iron Throne. And Lyanna- lovely, lively, spirited Lyanna- taken and violated by that wretch-</p>
<p>“Here, Your Grace.”</p>
<p>Robert snatched the bottle from Edmure’s hands. “Took you long enough.” He pulled the stopper from the bottle and spat it on the ground. He took a swig, then eyed the page still standing in front of him. “Get some sleep,” he ordered, softening his tone into something not unkind. “I’ll have no more need of you tonight.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Your Grace.”</p>
<p>Robert took another long swig. <i>Windproud</i>’s foremast still rose above the waters of Shipbreaker Bay, still visible from the walls of Storm’s End. It wasn’t just Aerys- it was the Targaryens. All of them. Rhaegar was proof enough of that. No, the Targs were rotten to the core, every last one of them. And every last one of them needed to go.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Eddard I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ned felt the smile fall from his face as he left Robert’s pavilion. He’d just lied to his closest friend. Or perhaps not lied, technically, but he had not told Robert the entire truth either. Rhaegar had said one thing more, claiming that Lyanna was now his wife, having said her vows before a heart tree, in the presence of a septon who had bound their hands together.</p><p>“Are you not already married, Your Grace?” he had asked. “Or has Princess Elia passed?”</p><p>“She lives,” Rhaegar had responded. “But she is unable to fulfill her duty as a woman.”</p><p>“I thought she had borne you an heir. And a daughter as well.”</p><p>“The Dragon must have three heads,” Rhaegar had declared. “Your sister accepted the duty willingly enough, Lord Stark; your House has no cause for complaint.”</p><p>Ned had felt his hands curling into fists at the man’s pompous, arrogant tone, but he had managed to keep his voice even as he responded, “Forgive me, Your Grace, but even a Targaryen cannot wed two women at one ti-”</p><p>“But they can,” Rhaegar had interrupted, “for we Targaryens are of Old Valyria, and the gods made us differently than the men of Andalos. Or you First Men, for that matter.”</p><p>Ned had blinked then, his anger replaced by astonishment. “Are you... claiming Exceptionalism?”</p><p>“Of course,” Rhaegar had answered. “Granted, my ancestors since Maegor have chosen to take only one wife at a time, but nothing in the Doctrine outright forbids the taking of multiple wives.”</p><p>Ned had not been able to argue- what little he knew of the Doctrine of Exceptionalism coming from lessons learned years ago that he hadn’t been particularly interested in to begin with- but he was swiftly becoming convinced the man was as mad as his father. Even if what Rhaegar claimed was true, it had been over two centuries since the reign of Maegor the Cruel. He had taken his leave of Rhaegar shortly after that, in order to attend the meeting in Robert’s pavilion.</p><p>Even if the Doctrine did permit the Targaryens multiple wives, Ned had difficulty believing Lyanna would so willingly agree to become some sort of secondary wife, or whatever the term was. Not when she’d become so upset after she'd learned about Mya. (Robert for his part had proclaimed he would be a faithful husband when Lord Rickard had questioned him on the matter.)</p><p>Plus, he’d seen the way her cheeks had flamed with mortification as she’d accepted the crown of blue winter roses from the tip of Rhaegar’s lance, and the way she’d thrust them into Benjen’s hands as soon as the crowd’s attention had turned away.</p><p>Which was why he had been surprised to learn from Benjen that Lyanna had received several letters from Rhaegar. He’d been even more surprised to learn that she’d written the Prince back, apparently with their father’s knowledge and approval. The two of them had torn Lyanna’s rooms and even their father’s solar apart, but could find no sign of any letters. Perhaps one of them would have explained why Lyanna had chosen to hire horses and ride to Riverrun from Maidenpool, rather than taking one of the famed Trident sailing barges up the Red Fork. </p><p>Although Lyanna was prone to seasickness, and far more comfortable on horseback; the explanation could be as simple as that. She and their father had gone to White Harbor to help celebrate the birth of Wyman Manderly’s first grandchild, with Lyanna and her guards taking a coaster down to Maidenpool after, while their father had returned to Winterfell.</p><p>Ned and Robert had been in Gulltown, Ned preparing to sail for White Harbor (he was to have been the Stark in Winterfell for Brandon and Catelyn’s wedding at Riverrun) when Jon had summoned them back to the Eyrie.</p><p>It was then that they had learned of Lyanna’s abduction- apparently Lyanna and her guards had been traveling for several days in a party with Rhaegar and his companions, so the guards had thought nothing of it when Ser Arthur Dayne had offered them some Arbor Red, later found to have been laced with milk of the poppy. Brandon and his companions had already ridden for King’s Landing and been seized by the Mad King. Robert had wanted to ride for King’s Landing as well, but Jon had flatly forbidden it, telling them that Lord Rickard was already on his way to the capital. Ned had agreed, believing at the time that there must have been some sort of confusion or miscommunication that would easily be straightened out, once cooler heads had prevailed.</p><p>He should have remembered the gaunt, filthy figure he’d seen at Harrenhal. The next news they’d heard was of Brandon and Father’s horrific deaths, and of Aerys’ demand for him and Robert to be sent to King’s Landing. Jon had refused, and all three of them had called their banners.</p><p>Ned shook his head. Whatever the truth of things, Lyanna would have contacted him or Benjen once she’d heard about Father and Brandon. That she hadn’t meant either she was being held a closely-guarded prisoner, or she was dead, despite Rhaegar’s promises. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Howland I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you still... have your eyes... bràthair beag?”</p>
<p>Howland Reed’s head shot up at Holman Reed’s labored words, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Y-yes. Yes, of course.”</p>
<p>“Good. You’ll need to see...to focus... on the things... of this world...now... Lord Reed.”</p>
<p>Howland shook his head. “No. No.” </p>
<p>“I can see... you holding my hand... but feel... nothing. Every breath... is a struggle...”</p>
<p>“I’ll- I’ll take you home,” Howland said desperately. “Mother-”</p>
<p>“Even one of... Mother’s potions... can’t help me... not now,” Holman interrupted. “I’m sorry... I wish... you could... have been... a Fear na... Coille Uaine... like- like-” Holman coughed- a wet, liquid sound.</p>
<p>“It doesn’t matter,” Howland replied, wiping the sputum from his brother’s chin. “Eilean nan Agaidhean was never my destiny, whatever any of us thought.”</p>
<p>“Still-”</p>
<p>“Save your strength,” Howland ordered. “I’m not going anywhere.”</p>
<p>Holman closed his eyes. After a long moment he asked, “Do you remember... how Papa used to... sing to us?”</p>
<p>Howland nodded. “Y-yes.”</p>
<p>Holman opened his eyes again. “Would you... mind? Just a song... or two?”</p>
<p>“Of course, bràthair. But I have to warn you, my voice hasn’t improved any.”</p>
<p>“Neither has... your face,” Holman rasped.</p>
<p>Howland laughed, then he straightened and began to sing: “Chaidh an losgann a ‘suirghe agus mharcaich e, mm-hmm, mm-hmm.”</p>
<p>Holman chuckled at the song his brother had chosen, an ancient children’s ditty about the tumultuous wedding between a frog and a mouse, and even joined in on the “mm-hmm”s at the end of the second and third verses. But all too soon, his eyelids fluttered shut once more, his breathing evened out, and as his brother sang “Càite am bi cuirm na bainnse? mm-hmm, mm-hmm” Holman, Lord Reed, the Lord of Greywater Watch, breathed out, and did not breathe in again.</p>
<p>“Howland,” a man’s voice said gently. “Howland, let go.” Howland looked up blearily. “Let the Sisters do what they must.” Only then did he notice the two gray-robed figures silently standing across from him, on the opposite side of his brother’s cot. Of his brother’s corpse.</p>
<p>He turned his head to the man who had spoken- his liege lord, Eddard Stark. Shame at his betrayal- of a House that had been naught but fair and just to he and his- bound Howland’s tongue as Ned led him out of the hospital tent.</p>
<p>Ned led him to another tent, guiding him to a pallet and draping a blanket over him before patting his shoulder in silent, awkward sympathy. Howland curled up into a fetal position as Ned departed, and stared unseeing at the tent wall. He could only hope that Eddard Stark- and perhaps more importantly, Lyanna Stark- would someday forgive him for his part in what they had suffered.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am using (badly translated) Scots Gaelic to stand in for the Old Tongue, in the same way that Modern English stands in for the Common Tongue of Westeros. I imagine pockets of the Old Tongue still survive in the more isolated areas of the North, such as The Neck or among the Northern Mountain Clans.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Eddard II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ned felt a smidgen of the tension ease from his shoulders as the last of the men and mules clattered over the bridge at Hayford. (All of the wagons had been left behind with Robert’s portion of the army in order for his men to be able to move faster.) He had expected to find the bridge destroyed, and the Targaryen army waiting for them, as the River Hay was the last natural barrier they would face before reaching the walls of King’s Landing, but beyond the burned fields stretching out to either side, there was no sign of the Targaryen forces.</p>
<p>He spared a glance for Castle Hayford on its hill, and the figures he could see watching from its walls. Lord Hayford, or possibly his castellan, had chosen to retreat behind the castle’s walls, and neither oppose nor welcome the army marching through Hayford lands. Which, upon reflection, was probably the best outcome Ned could have hoped for. He was confident his men could have taken the castle within a day had Lord Hayford chosen to oppose them, but not without casualties they could ill-afford.</p>
<p>“We should perhaps leave a detachment of men here to guard the bridge, against the need to retire should Lord Tywin have joined with Aerys,” Roose Bolton suggested. They had learned the day before that the Lannister forces had arrived at King’s Landing before them. “The crannogmen might prove useful in this, at least.”</p>
<p>Howland Reed opened his mouth to respond, but Ned cut him off with a sharp gesture. “I appreciate your caution, Lord Bolton, but we will need every man if it turns out we must fight once we reach King’s Landing.”</p>
<p>“Lord Bolton is not entirely wrong,” Howland ground out, with a glare at the older man. “We should at least have the scouts check periodically.”</p>
<p>Ned nodded. “Agreed. Inform Ser Mark of this addition to his usual duties.”</p>
<p>Howland nodded, "Aye, my lord."</p>
<p>Ned turned his courser’s head, and within moments the three men were cantering towards the front of the army.</p>
<p>As they approached the front of the army Ned could just see the towers of the Red Keep in the distance ahead of them, although King’s Landing itself was still hidden behind a series of low hills. A group of about half-a-dozen knights sat on their horses beside the road as the leading contingent of the infantry- Tully spearmen in this case- marched past.</p>
<p>“Tell Lord Stark what you just told me,” Brynden Tully ordered as Ned and his companions drew up beside the group. From the corner of his eye Ned could see Howland pull his horse up beside Ser Mark Ryswell and lean over to speak quietly to the knight.</p>
<p>“Much of the Lannister army seems to be within the walls of King’s Landing,” William Dustin reported, “and the Dornishmen are encamped on the road outside the gate.”</p>
<p>Ned cursed. Tywin Lannister had made his choice then, and it wasn’t Robert. “What else?”</p>
<p>William hesitated, glancing over at Ser Elys Waynwood, who nodded. “The Dornishmen,” Lord Dustin continued, “looked to be assaulting the gate.”</p>
<p>Ned frowned. That didn’t make any sense. “Are you certain?”</p>
<p>William nodded. “Aye, my lord.”</p>
<p>“It looked that way to me as well,” Ser Elys confirmed. “I can’t expl-”</p>
<p>“Seven Hells!” Roose Bolton burst out. </p>
<p>Ned’s eyes snapped to the older man, then followed the line of his gaze south to where the towers of the Red Keep were erupting with green flame.</p>
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